


Parenting Ain't Easy

by galoots



Series: Loots Duck Universe (LDU) [1]
Category: Disney Duck Universe, Disney Ducks (Comics)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2019-11-18 10:49:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18119300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galoots/pseuds/galoots
Summary: Thrust into parenthood by circumstances beyond their control, Scrooge and Duckworth traverse the often harrowing, but emotionally gratifying, ordeal of raising a child. Through bumps and bruises, heartaches and heartbreaks, the two men learn to navigate the travails of caring for their shared ward, Donald Duck.Vignettes from their unfolding tale that are at times comical, sweet, despondent, and more.





	1. Please, God, Don't Make Me Hold This Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suggest listening to the Bundle of Joy track from Disney's Inside Out while reading this chapter.

           “Hi there, laddie. I’m your uncle!” Peeking into the crib, Scrooge waved at the newly hatched duckling. The baby took a few tottering steps towards him before losing his balance and falling backwards onto his bum. “Wee little Donald, aren’t you a sight.” His nephew was covered in yellow, fuzzy down and his beak was a bright, rosy pink. Scrooge leaned over the crib’s railing to poke Donald’s stomach. It was squishy with baby fat. “Hortense, he’s beautiful. Mummy and Daddy would be so proud.”

           “Thank you, Scroogie.” She’d never seen her rip-roaring, hard-as-steel brother wear such a tender expression. It suited him. Perhaps Donald would be a positive influence on Scrooge, having something cute and vulnerable to look after could do the old miser a world of good. “Would you like to hold him?”

           “Hold him? No, absolutely not.”

           Quackmore clapped excitedly, ignoring Scrooge’s apprehension. “Yes, that would be an excellent photo-op.” He’d been snapping near constant photos of their son when he wasn’t sobbing over how much he loved their little bundle of joy. Scooping Donald up, Quackmore deposited the infant into his brother-in-law’s arms. “There you go. Support his head like this.” Quackmore adjusted Scrooge’s hold on Donald so the newborn was cradled properly in his arms.

           “Quackmore! You buffoon! Didn’t you here what I said?”

           “Precious. Absolutely precious.” Quackmore had started to sniffle again, teetering on the edge of tears.

           “Darling, I love you, but please don’t start crying again.” She rubbed her husband’s back while she stifled a yawn. "I swear, I'll never get any sleep if these two don't stop crying all the time."

           Meanwhile, a shocked Scrooge felt a terror he’d never known before. My God, this thing is a sack of vital organs and fragile bird bones contained within a thin membrane of skin. I’m holding the most precious thing they own. What if I drop him? “Take him back.”

           “Calm down, Scroogie. You’re doing fine. Besides Quackmore still needs to take his photo.”

           “I’ll go grab the camera,” yelled Quackmore as he darted out of the room.

           “Hortense, please take him back. I’m going to fuck this up! Don’t trust me with this!”

           “Aw, I think he likes you.”

           “Is he supposed to be moving?! Why is he wiggling so much?”

           “Did you notice he has Quackmore’s eyes?”

           “Hortense, you’re not listening to me! Every second I stand here the chance of me dropping this baby rises exponentially. God, I can feel him soaking up all my fears and anxieties like a sponge! I’m corrupting your baby! I’m teaching it all that’s terrible in this world!” Scrooge’s hysteric fit had reached its fevered pitch, and he started to let out panicked little sobs.

           The next moment, Quackmore had returned. “Cheese!” Click. Flash. “There we go. That’s one for the photo-books alright.” Donald was wiggling and kicking in Scrooge’s arms at this point. “Uh oh. Looks like someone’s a little fussy.”

           Scrooge sobbed, “Damn right I’m fussy!”

           “Let me take him from you, big bro.”

           “No, are you crazy?! I don’t have the kind of coordination to pull off that expert-level maneuver! Its way beyond me!”

           “Looks like someone’s being a baby hog.” Quackmore playfully nudged his wife while chortling.

           “Aye. I’ll scoop the wee one up.” Hortense swooped the baby into her arms before Scrooge could protest. Once the child was safely out of his clumsy grasp, Scrooge finally began to calm. Hortense cooed at Donald who shrieked with delight. “Who loves his unkie? That’s right, you do!”

           Scrooge loudly blew his nose into his handkerchief and with a snuffle asked, “Can I hold him again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scrooge and Quackmore have a very goofy relationship. Quackmore thinks he's the coolest brother-in-law you could ever have and dove headfirst into acting like they were best friends. Scrooge thinks Quackmore is a buffoon, and he can't understand why his sister would marry this giant goofball.  
> Eventually, he warms up to Quackmore when what a devoted father he is, and how he can never fail to make his grumpy sister laugh.


	2. Cracked Beaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A game of airplane goes wrong!

            Scrooge was bouncing Donald up and down on his knee as the infant shrieked with glee. At 13 months, Donald had begun babbling and attempted his first few uncertain steps. His adoring Uncle had witnessed each moment with a pride that filled his chest.

            When Scrooge would come to babysit wee Donnie, the child would totter over to him, arms up, reciting _Unca'_ over and over again. Scrooge had never thought one little word could bring a man such joy. Unless that word was _gold,_ perhaps. Yet, as much as he loved gold, which was quite a lot, his wee Donnie was becoming more precious to him than all the riches in his money bin. Which is exactly why it had made it all the more painful when he first let harm come to his pride and joy.

            They’d been playing their usual game of airplane; Donald lifted high in the air above him as Scrooge balanced him on his webbed feet. Unlike usual, however, Donald had slipped and come crashing to the floor’s hard wooden surface. Stunned, Scrooge stared up at the blank space his nephew previously occupied, before Donald’s warbling cry shook him out of his stupor. Picking up his baby, Scrooge uttered comforting words and apologies. On closer inspection, those words might have been premature. The upper half of Donald’s beak now sported a small but noticeable crack.

            _Oh God. Oh God! I did the one thing you’re not supposed to do as a parent! I broke my baby!_ Tears pricked at Scrooge’s eyes as he watched the tears track down Donald’s cheeks. _He was a monster. He hurt his boy. Hortense was going to kill him._ With a still upset Donald stashed under his arm, Scrooge sprinted to the nearest landline and hastily dialed the pediatrician. The poor receptionist who answered, a chipper young man by the sound of his voice, was bombarded with the incoherent ramblings of a distraught Scrooge McDuck.

            “My nephew—his beak—accident—crack—”

            Fortunately, the receptionist was no stranger to handling panicked parents. “Sir take a breath. I can’t understand what you’re saying.” A deep inhale and exhale crackled over the phone’s speaker and into the young man’s ear. “Ok, now you mentioned a cracked beak? Is your child bleeding?”

            “No, but—”

            “That’s good. How deep is the crack?”

            “Shallow, but—”

            “Ok, does your child seem like he’s in pain?”

            Scrooge examined Donald. After the shock of the fall had worn off, he was no longer crying. Wee Donnie smiled at his Unca’ with his slightly cracked break. “Well, no… he seems fine, but—”

            “Well then, sir. It sounds like a minor crack to me. Happens all the time. If you’d like you can bring your child in for the doctor to examine it, but with superficial chips the only recourse is to let the damage grow out.”

            “He’s—He’s not going to die?”

            Scrooge _swore_ he heard the receptionist stifle a giggle on the other end. “No, sir. He’ll be completely fine.”

            “Oh, ok.” A pause lingered in the air for a second. “Um, thank you.”

            “You’re welcome. Have a good day, sir.”

            “Ok.” The line went dead, and Scrooge hung the phone back on its receiver. Later, he’d taken Donald in to see the doctor, only to be told the same thing as before. Now, Scrooge had retired the airplane game for the moment in favor of a safer activity. One that allowed him to keep both hands planted firmly around Donald’s waist.

            He’d never let Donald suffer any harm ever again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Donald gets hurt again.


	3. Honeyed Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scrooge's old cutthroat business tactics don't seem to work as well after the birth of his nephew. Has his connection with his family made him a weaker man, or does he just need to borrow a cue from Donald and try some tender-hearted alternatives?

Scrooge McDuck paced back and forth while he argued with his advisers over the phone. Trying to increase his funding for new ventures was one thing but insisting on increasing his yearly donations was _mad._ If he kept up at this clip, he’d be broke in six hundred years! He didn’t become the world’s richest duck through frivolous spending that’s for sure.

Over in the corner of his office was Quackmore, typing away at his desk while humming a little tune. There was a man that was downright foolish, he thought, watching him complete busywork with a smile plastered on his face. Hortense had insisted he’d hire her husband for office work now that wee Donald was up and toddling. There weren’t many places willing to let a man bring his 15-month year old into his workplace any day. He didn’t spot Donald nearby, assuming perhaps that the boy was off distracting his other staff. Yes, Donald was plenty cute, but that was no excuse for his employees to sit around cooing over him. There was work to be done, and if they wanted to earn their paycheck then they damn well better do it.

Scrooge twisted his finger impatiently around the phone cord as his financial advisers tried to argue over one another about how Scrooge should spend his _own_ money. From the corner of his eye, he saw Quackmore knock over an inkwell, spilling black ink over the stack of freshly-typed reports he’d just finished. Scrooge couldn’t tell who the bigger fool was, Hortense, for marrying the clumsy oaf, or himself, for agreeing to hire the fool.

In the middle of a particularly heated exchange of words over the phone, Scrooge stumbled over something caught under his feet. He caught himself on the desk but had accidentally sent the phone base crashing to the floor, abruptly ending his phone call. Furious, he swung around to see what had tripped him, only to find wee Donald tottering around his feet.

“Quackmore!” Scrooge yelled, “Why is your boy deliberately getting in my way?”

Donald’s father was desperately trying to contain the black sea of ink he’d spilled over his desk and salvage what he’d ruined. Anxiously trying to dry out his wet papers, Quackmore yelled back as he worked, “He’s following you around!”

“Why? Doesn’t he know he’s getting in my way?” The little dickens just smiled up at his uncle, babbling nonsense.

Quackmore dumped a pile of papers unto the floor in his frantic haste to fix his mistake. “He’s a baby, Scrooge. Ducklings follow after whomever they’ve imprinted on!” More papers fluttered to the floor. Scrooge watched with mild disdain for Quackmore’s bumbling pantomime. With a bigger mess than he’d originally caused, Quackmore gave up, turning to look at Scrooge. “He's, uh, probably following after you because you were pacing back and forth, and I was seated.”

“Clean up your mess,” Scrooge curtly replied, knowing that with any other employee, he’d be chewing them out for their incompetence. This employee was family, however, even if he was dithering ninny. Besides, he wouldn’t have such a darling little nephew to trip over without Quackmore. He glanced down at Donald, who had stopped to clutch at his leg to keep his balance. Imprinting, huh? So, the boy recognized him as family. More so, as family he should wisely follow. Smart boy.

The duckling stretched out his arms and Scrooge obligingly leaned over to pick him up, hoisting the boy up to cradle him against his shoulder.

“Aw,” cooed Quackmore, “does baby Donnie love his Unkie Scrooge?” The man had stopped cleaning up his mess, choosing to gawk at his brother-in-law with his inky hands clasped together in awe. With a free hand, Scrooge grabbed his cane to point angrily at the ink-blotted disaster area that used to be Quackmore’s desk, but Quackmore kept staring at him, wide eyes sparkling with glee.

Scrooge huffed. One angry look from him used to level cities, cow lesser men, and curdle fresh milk. Now he couldn’t even get his finicky financial board to follow his orders. He glanced at the baby in his arms. Was he getting soft?

Donald tugged fiercely on his sideburns, causing Scrooge to wince. It hurt but he did nothing to make the boy stop, scowling and putting up with the pain for his nephew’s enjoyment. Quackmore went back to cleaning up his mess, turning intermittently to smile with fond assurance at his son’s earnest attempts to rip the feathers right off his brother-in-law’s face. 

Wincing with each tug, Scrooge picked the phone off of the floor and placed it back on his desk. Settling back into his office chair, he redialed the number of his financial board. The phone rang while Scrooge jiggled the duckling in his arms. If angry looks couldn’t get him what he wanted, then maybe a little sweetness and light was the way to go. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar after all. 

As he greeted his financial advisers over the phone, he pretended to pluck his nephew's beak from his face, enjoying the look of bewildered amusement that followed. "Hello, gentlemen. So sorry to hang up on you all of sudden like that. I have a little one toddling around my feet and, well, you know how these things go." From the receiver cradled by his ear, he heard a mumbling chorus of sympathetic parents; already his reconfigured techniques were showing results. Throughout the conversation, when Scrooge felt his temper start to rise, he'd look towards Donald and his sweet, placid face, before curtailing his tone. In no time at all, he'd persuaded his previously irate financial board towards a solution he found much more beneficial for his bruised and battered wallet. He hung up the phone with a coy smile, perhaps there was something to this affected diffidence idea. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yessss, yessss, succumb to the siren song of growing kinder, Scrooge. Look to sweet little Donald who has everyone wrapped around his finger, copy his ways, learn from him!  
> I was thinking offhandedly about kids learning to walk and duckling knowing to follow after their mother when the two collided into this idea.


	4. Not All Pain is Physical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mild trigger warnings for mentions of suicide and child abuse from Scrooge's past. As well as homophobia.

Scrooge paused a moment in the hallway of Donald’s preschool. Drawings done by students decorated the halls; pictures of crudely drawn family members, oddly proportioned animals, and suns with smiling faces pasted row upon row littering the walls. Donald’s contribution was easy to find as he’d chosen his usual subject: a little sailboat upon the sea, piloted by a duck wearing a captain’s hat. Scrooge smiled fondly at the picture; he’d have to add that one to scrapbook later.   
The reason for his presence here today, however, was less joyful. A phone call from Donald’s preschool teacher had summoned him there. She hadn’t gone into specifics over the phone, only citing certain “behavioral issues” in need of addressing. With Donald’s dual inheritance of his mother’s fiery temper and his father’s mischievous love of pranks, Scrooge had a few good guesses as to what those “issues” entailed. The combination had made Donald rather unpopular with authority figures, especially those who demanded compliance from children. And Donald’s teacher, Ms. Stanton, was the kind of teacher who believed that children should be seen and not heard. Suffice it to say, this was not Scrooge’s first meeting with her. Despite the issues, Scrooge had kept on with Ms. Stanton’s cozy one-class preschool; she ran a tight ship and had an excellent reputation in their community, so he’d not let their conflicting disciplinary styles steer him elsewhere. Scrooge believed Donald needed a gentle guiding hand, but he was new to this while Ms. Stanton was not. So, he preferred to defer to someone with more experience in the matter, even if it left him with a lingering sense of bitterness and unease each time he did so.  
Scrooge knocked lightly on the classroom door but, hearing no response, let himself in. It was after-hours, so the classroom was empty of the other children save for Donald, who sat forlornly in the time-out chair. The late afternoon sun dappled through the window, illuminating the dust motes that danced through the air with its beam. It’d be a lovely sight, if not for his little duckling sniffling and scrubbing tears from his face striking a discordant note among the otherwise peaceful atmosphere of a classroom at rest. The sight made Scrooge’s heart sink and he beelined over to Donald, ready to comfort him. Talking to Ms. Stanton could wait. Donald could not.  
Scrooge knelt by Donald’s chair. “Hi there, sweetpea.” With his handkerchief, Scrooge wiped away Donald’s tears. “Not having such a good day, huh?”   
Donald shook his head.   
“Well, want to tell me what happened before I talk to your teacher?”   
Donald snuffled. “I dinna do anythin’, Unca Scrooge.”   
The boy’s speech impediment still needed work. Scrooge made a mental reminder to schedule Donald’s next speech therapy appointment when he got the chance. It’d have to wait for now though. They were more pressing matters to attend to.   
Scrooge ruffled Donald’s feathers and sighed. Donald wasn’t usually the type to lie, but he supposed it was in a child’s nature to cover their tracks when caught with their hand in the cookie jar. He’d have to press him gently for the truth. He’d much prefer to hear Donald’s account of the instigating event before he went to speak with Ms. Stanton. “Laddie, I wasn’t called in for nothing. So why don’t you tell me why I’m here exactly? I won’t be angry alright? Uncle Scrooge just wants to know what happened.” Scrooge quieted down, paying careful attention to what Donald had to say. It was often hard to decode what Donald meant with his thick speech impediment. He had difficulty pronouncing rhotic sounds like r and l like most children did, but coupled with a distortion and a warbly voice, Donald was often harder to understand.   
“I really dinna do anythin’, Unca! I was playin’ house with my friend and Teach came and yelled at me!”   
Scrooge stood up. He thought Donald would be more honest with him, but he supposed he’d just have to hear the details from the source itself. “Sit tight, Donnie. We’ll talk more after I see your teacher.”   
The sound of Donald’s sniffles followed Scrooge to the door of Ms. Stanton’s office. He knocked politely and was invited in. The door closing behind him muffled the sound of Donald’s whimpers. Scrooge and Ms. Stanton exchanged rote pleasantries before they got down to business.   
Ms. Stanton cleared her throat before beginning. “Mr. McDuck, we need to talk about Donald’s behavior.”  
Did she really feel the need to state the obvious like this each time? Scrooge had little patience for small talk and even less patience for redundancy. He massaged the bridge of his nose. He could feel a migraine coming on. “What was it this time, Ms. Stanton? Another temper tantrum? A whoopie cushion on your chair? Did he pour paste into your coffee? Out with it, please. I’d prefer to know what I’m doing here.”   
Ms. Stanton frowned at him. She was a no-nonsense woman, and McDuck’s young ward was far too much of a troublemaker for her taste. “Something different than his usual delinquencies this time, Mr. McDuck.” Scrooge rankled at the teacher’s choice of words. He knew Donald wasn’t the easy student to deal with, but still her thinly veiled contempt for him felt unwarranted. Even so, he did the polite thing and held his tongue despite his immediate impulse to go to bat for his nephew. After all, he didn’t know what he had been called here to discuss and, going by Ms. Stanton’s tone, it was something more serious than Donald’s troubling little pranks. Ms. Stanton folded her hands in front of her and continued, “I caught him… kissing another boy during playtime today.”  
Scrooge looked at her with confusion. He adjusted his glasses as if doing so might make matters clearer. “So?”  
“So?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you mean so?”  
“I’ll have a talk with him about the proper time and place for affection, but I fail to see how this warranted an in-person meeting, Ms. Stanton.” Scrooge knitted his brows together. She yelled at child for what? A harmless little kiss?   
“Mr. McDuck that’s completely unacceptable.”  
“Completely unnaccept—You called me in here… because he kissed someone?”   
“Another boy, Mr. McDuck.”  
“Why does that matter?” Scrooge’s grip on his cane tightened as he felt his anger rise.   
She scoffed at him, presumably in disbelief that the question even needed to be asked. “Well, it’s disgusting, Mr. McDuck. Two boys… that’s… unnatural. Luckily, I’ve already reprimanded him for his behavior. Its best to catch these things young. Curb them before its too late. Before they’ve done lasting damage, you know.”   
Now, Scrooge was livid. He stood up violently, sending his chair toppling to the ground. His beak was gritted in a snarl as he fought back the urge to hurl curses at this woman. “Let me get this straight. You interrupt me during my busy work day, costing me God knows how much money, make me come all the way down here to your office—”  
“Mr. McDuck, I beg your pardon—”  
“Shut up!” He rapped his cane against her desk, causing Ms. Stanton to jolt in surprise. She was utterly taken aback by Scrooge’s sudden outburst. “You harass my child to the point of tears, then insult him to my face… all because he kissed another boy?!”  
Ms. Smith sputtered, trying to recover from Scrooge’s tongue-lashing, but he cut her off before she could say anything else. “Donald will no longer be attending your preschool, Ms. Stanton. I sorely misjudged your character. You can be sure that the other parents will be hearing of your behavior. Why I wouldn’t be surprised if you find a number of them joining me in withdrawing their own children from your care. To think I was willing to trust my child’s education to someone who clearly lacks the braincells needed to form even one substantial thought of any merit whatsoever!”   
Ms. Smith gaped at him, too shocked to respond. Still bubbling with anger, Scrooge swiped petulantly at the items on her desk, sending them crashing to the floor. He stomped out of the room, turning to yell at her once more, “I bid you good day!” Before he slammed her office door with all his might.  
Scrooge whipped around to face his nephew. “Donald! We’re leaving!” Donald jumped to his feet but did not come running towards his uncle as he usually would. One look at his face stopped Scrooge in his tracks. The boy looked fit to burst into tears once again. The angry expression on Scrooge’s face crumbled as he realized what he’d inadvertently done. He rushed over to his nephew, apologies spilling profusely from his beak. “I’m sorry, darling! I’m so sorry. Unkie Scrooge didn’t mean to yell at you!”  
Donald nervously knotted the edge of his sailor shirt, looking down at his feet. “Do you hate me now, too?”  
“No no no no!” Scrooge scrambled. He’d forgotten Donald wasn’t the only one with a black temper in this family. He took a deep breath and tried to collect himself. He knelt down and placed his hands upon Donald’s shoulders. “I could never hate you, darling. Never. No matter what. I was so angry that I forgot myself.” This was a travesty. How did things go so wrong? He had to undo the damage that had taken place here. “Donald, you need to understand. You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart. Unkie Scrooge should have listened to you when you said so earlier.” Scrooge swallowed around the lump in his throat. How could he have screwed things up so bad? “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have believed you. I made a mistake.”   
Donald nodded softly and reached out for a hug. Scrooge embraced him tightly, almost afraid to let go. “I’ll make it up to you, ok? I know just the thing to cheer you up.”   
“How’s that ice cream taste, laddie?”  
“Yummy!” Donald chirped in between licks.   
Scrooge leaned over to wipe the excess melted chocolate ice cream off Donald’s beak. His nephew was dribbling chocolate all over his sailor suit and its sticky residue was drying in his feathers. While Scrooge would usually chide Donald about making a mess, he let his duckling enjoy his treat unhindered. Clothes could be laundered, and he’d give Donald a bath when they got home. While his nephew was happily enjoying his sweet treat, Scrooge hadn’t quite recovered from the day’s incident. He was still reeling with anger over the teacher’s gall. Worse still, he was furious at himself for ignoring Donald’s plea of innocence. Scrooge drummed his fingers against the handle of his cane. He was supposed to protect Donald, yet he had failed to come to his defense when he needed him to. If he couldn’t take care of Donald, then there’d be no one in the boy’s life to do so.   
The loss of his sister and brother-in-law was so recent; the grief from their deaths still so fresh. It dogged him, and he feared it was impacting his newfound role as Donald’s sole caretaker. An adaptation he wasn’t taking to easily. With a sigh, Scrooge leaned his head back against the cool walls of the ice cream parlor. He’d made a misstep today, that much was obvious. Hortense wouldn’t have flubbed this up. She would have cussed out that teacher until Quackmore was forced to drag her out of the school by her heels. No, the two of them wouldn’t have enrolled Donald in Ms. Stanton’s preschool in the first place. They would have seen her for what she was or, at the very least, they would have known after the first few disciplinary issues that she was not a good fit for Donald. But they were no longer here. And Scrooge was.   
Maybe he wasn’t meant to have children. He’d never married, had never planned to, so the thought of becoming a father wasn’t one that had ever crossed his mind. Now he was all that was left to take care of his nephew, so he had to step up to the plate. How could one take care of a child when one had never gotten the chance to be one? He’d only been a lad himself when he left Scotland for America to make his fortune. His childhood had been cut short so soon. Perhaps taking on Donald as his ward had been a mistake. Wouldn’t he be better off with Elvira? Or Matilda? Surely, they would never yell at Donald, or upset him, or fail to protect him. His eyes started to tear up as he fought to regain composure. The truth was he was selfish. That was it, wasn’t it? He didn’t want to let Donald go because he loved him too dearly. Even if Donald was better off somewhere else. Without him.   
“Unca Scrooge?”   
Scrooge lifted his head from its reclined position, turning it slightly towards Donald.   
“I’m done!” The boy handed the soggy remainders of his ice cream cone to his uncle. Scrooge took it reflexively before he could realize it was still dripping with melted ice cream. He looked down at the droplets of chocolate that now stained his broadcloth coat. It would seem that they both needed a good scrubbing now, didn’t it?  
Scrooge promptly drove Donald home. Once there, he handed his coat to Duckworth for laundering before asking him to run them a bath. Scrooge scrubbed diligently at the dried chocolate on Donald’s feathers. The water was a muddy looking brown when he had finished. His now squeaky-clean duckling practiced dabbling in the dirty water, splashing it all over Scrooge and the bathroom floor. He should have been cross, he supposed, but Scrooge couldn’t help but guffaw over Donald’s antics. That boy was something else alright. Donald resurfaced panting for air, smiling at his uncle’s laughter.   
Once his bath was finished, Donald immediately took off, trailing sudsy water down the hallway. Scrooge gave chase, but knew it’d be Duckworth, lying in wait around the corner, towel in hand, who’d catch the little one. They’d dry him off and dress him in his footie pajamas, struggling to pull Donald’s tail through the hole in the cloth. Afterwards, they’d watch a movie together; Donald sat on his lap sucking his thumb while Scrooge rubbed warm circles into Donnie’s back. His boy would fall asleep before the movie ended. Like he always did. As Scrooge carried Donald off to bed, he’d thought of all the ways the world would try to snuff Donald’s happiness. He hadn’t imagined how utterly terrifying the perils of parenthood were, nor how difficult it was to raise a child. He hadn’t anticipated all the ways the world would hurt him, the aches he couldn’t protect Donald from, no matter how hard he tried.  
As he tucked Donald in, his mind wandered to his own childhood memories in the Dismal Downs. The grey, foggy morning he’d stolen away to the O’Neil’s barn. How he and the O’Neil’s youngest, Henry, the handsome boy with jet-black feathers and bright green eyes, had exchanged shy, tender kisses up in the hayloft. Up until Henry’s father came in to milk the cows, catching them in the act they hadn’t know would warrant punishment. O’Neil was furious with the boys, and he dragged them down from the hayloft by the scruff of their necks.   
He was surprised, by how much that memory still pained him, even 50 years later. How slow it was for that wound to heal; how much longer it outlasted the bruises and welts he received that day.   
So fervently, he hoped the joys of the day had overwritten Donald’s own pain and stopped his own wound from forming. Scrooge thought the world had changed since then. Perhaps he’d been naïve to think that way. Surely, it was safer nowadays, for people like him and his sisters to live openly. There was less pressure to hide. Less fear and more visibility. But, even though things were better, did not mean there weren’t more O’Neil’s out in the world. Or more Ms. Stanton’s. The utterly sickening thing was how steadfast those people were in their own moral rectitude. O’Neil had believed he’d been doing the two of them a favor, just as Ms. Stanton had believed she’d been doing Donald a favor.   
How blind people could be to the invisible, ineffable wounds they inflicted on others. Wounds that might not heal, even decades later. Or worse yet, might fester until it was too late to treat.   
The day he embarked for America’s awaiting shores, Henry had been there to see him off. The two of them shook hands, all too wary now of the repercussions of any further contact. Henry hadn’t said anything to him in that moment, only looked at him sadly, trying to communicate something with his eyes he hadn’t the words to say. That was the last time Scrooge would ever see him in this lifetime. Years later, he’d receive a letter from his sister, sharing the news of his death. Scrooge would sob bitterly over the message that told him how Henry had taken his father’s shotgun into the barn where they’d shared their first kiss and taken his own life. Standing there upon the docks in that moment, his now far-flung past, Scrooge would intuit none of that dark fate in Henry’s sad-eyed stare. Instead, he’d wonder what it was that they had done wrong. What heinous crime they’d committed to warrant the beating they’d both received that day. Here, in the present, Scrooge was unable to banish Henry’s sad, pensive face from his mind. It peered at him from across the gulf of time and space, making his loss anew.   
A soft hand placed upon his shoulder dispelled that haunting image, Duckworth’s hand. Scrooge looked at him, eyes full of tears, unable to keep in his sorrow, both old and new. The two of them sat in the den. Duckworth poured them both a piping hot cups of nutmeg tea. His fellow émigré knew the importance of a cup of tea during trying times. Scrooge relayed the day’s events and more. He talked about his hesitations, his failings, his uncertainties about Donald’s welfare.   
“What if I can’t do this?” He asked, partially to Duckworth, partially to himself.   
“You can.” Duckworth answered.   
Scrooge sipped gingerly at his cup of tea. “Can I? Benedict, you weren’t there today. I yelled at the poor darling. I did the thing I wasn’t supposed to do as a parent. I let my anger get the better of me and I took it out on someone undeserving, someone innocent.”   
Benedict placed a hand uncertainly on Scrooge’s own. “You made a mistake. Everyone does.”   
“But—”  
Benedict stopped him. “Scrooge, you aren’t O’Neil. Not even close. Today was a misstep. Tomorrow won’t be.”   
He couldn’t fight the tears that spilled from his eyes. What was the point? No use in pretending Duckworth hadn’t struck him at the core.   
Benedict squeezed his hand firmly. “Things will be different for Donald’s generation. Its not like when we were boys. Thank god for that.”   
The two of them smiled at each other with expressions tinged with sadness and hurt.   
“You’re right, Benedict.”   
“I always am, sir.”   
Scrooge couldn’t help but laugh at that. He had a point. Benedict started to retract his hand, but Scrooge grasped it once again. His longtime friend, his most loyal employee, looked at him with surprise. In for a penny in for a pound, Scrooge thought. He looked at Benedict earnestly. “Stay here with me, just a moment longer, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh I'll write another cute li'l chapter, I say, as I pen something deeply bittersweet. Donald won't remember this day, but Scrooge will. For more than one reason.


	5. Father's Day Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father's Day??? More like BOTHERs DAy!

“Happy Birthday, Unca Scrooge!” Little hands covered in paste and glitter clutched at a construction paper card. Scrooge set aside the budget he was trying to pare down to receive the card being presented to him. 

“What’s this then, laddie?” Scrooge readjusted his glasses, holding the card at arm’s length, and squinted to get a better look at the thing. “You know it’s not my birthday for another six months, right?”

“It’s Father’s Day!” Donald clambered onto his uncle’s lap. “That’s the day all dads were born.”

“What?” With a chuckle, Scrooge opened the card to read the message Donald had scrawled inside. “Who told you that?”

The writing inside was far too neat to be penned by Donald’s own hand. His schoolteacher must have themed arts and crafts around the holiday and, accordingly, wrote the messages the kids dictated. Donald had clearly edited his teacher’s handy work, however, since the end of ‘Uncle’ was crossed out to read ‘Unca,’ and the S in Scrooge had been made into a dollar sign.

Donald wiped his sticky hands on Scrooge’s broadcloth coat. “Goofy did. Then I asked my Teach if that was right, but I zoned out during her explanation.”

Underneath the card’s message was a picture of Scrooge diving into a pile of gold coins. Donald had dumped so much glitter onto the image that it fell from the paper, shimmering as it settled on Scrooge’s lap.

“Well Goofy is quite the expert.” Scrooge murmured, softly reprimanding Donald not to use him as a napkin. “Thank you, sweetheart. I love it.”

They embraced, and Scrooge planted a soft kiss on Donald’s head. Inside, his heart ached. This day was a sad reminder that Donald’s real father had passed, before Donald had even gotten the chance to know him. Yet, this gift reaffirmed that Donald thought of him as his father figure, which made Scrooge’s chest feel fit to burst with pride and adoration.

“I love you, Unca Scrooge.” Donald whispered.

“I love you, too, Donald.” Scrooge whispered hoarsely back. He couldn’t keep crying at the office like this. It was unbecoming of a CEO.

Donald still hung around his neck when they let go of each other.

“Will you help me make another card for Duckworth?”

Scrooge spluttered in surprise but failed to say anything coherent.

“It needs to be from both of us.” Donald hopped off his uncle’s lap to grab his art supplies from his backpack. “So, he knows we both love him.”

Blushing with the kind of abandon that did not fit his advanced age, Scrooge puzzled over whether or not Donald knew what he was saying. He had grown closer with Duckworth as of late but writing him a heartfelt message in a card was out of the question. What if Duckworth misinterpreted the gesture? What if he laughed at him? This was far too embarrassing. He’d have to disappoint his little duckling by saying no. But as he watched Donald collect all the tools they’d need, he couldn’t bring himself to actually form the words to put the matter to rest.

What was the least specific expression of mutual respect and platonic endearment that would neither confirm nor deny any progression in their long-term friendship? A phrase that perfectly summed up their ‘more than friends, but less than lovers’ relationship.

Lovers. Just thinking that word in connection with Duckworth made Scrooge’s palms start to sweat.

“Got ‘em!” Donald dumped everything they’d need on Scrooge’s desk.

Later that day, Duckworth received a card wishing him a happy Father’s Day from Donald. Scrawled in Donald’s large, messy handwriting was a heartfelt expression of love, paired with a rather sporting drawing of Scrooge, Duckworth, and Donald holding hands. Sloppy, uneven hearts populated the space above their heads. Underneath, in the small, cramped handwriting that Duckworth could recognize at a glance, was written the following.

“Donald made me write this. Happy holiday that celebrates a non-specific male figure in the life of our shared ward. Please do not expect any corresponding bonus that may accompany other holidays such as Christmas. I am quite fond of you. Thank you for your help and support over the years. I look forward to further collaboration in the future.”

The card made Duckworth equally effused with joy and utter confusion. What strange people he now called his family.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what can I say? Father's Day was an excuse for me to write more Scrooge and Donald fluff. This one is very off the cuff.   
> Scrooge still can't get the glitter out of his clothes, and he blushed every time he locked eyes with Duckworth that week. Duckworth was very confused about Scrooge's weird message.


	6. Ducks, Dogs, and Dads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duckworth is a very proper man. He believes he should be addressed as such.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter jumps back in time a bit from the last one, since Donald was old enough to speak full sentences there.

“No, no. Let’s try this again, shall we?” Duckworth gave Donald’s swing a little push. Donald giggled as he rocked back and forth. This gift from Elvira really was a godsend, Duckworth thought. It was much easier to clean the mansion without a baby strapped to your back. Plus, Donald seemed to prefer watching Duckworth go about his daily tasks from his spot on the floor. He made a mental note to send Elvira a thank you card from the two of them. A box of those fruit jellies from the import shop would be an excellent accompanying gift as well. 

That was a task for a later date, however. Right now, Duckworth had taken a break from his work to soothe his employer’s charming new ward. 

“Now repeat after me: Duckworth.” He repeated his name slowly so Donald could mimic the sounds. 

“Ducky!” Donald cried happily. 

“Not quite. Duckworth. You have to say the whole thing. Duckworth.” 

“Ducky?” Donald repeated. The cute little bugger was trying his best, but he wasn’t quite getting it. 

“Young master Donald.” Duckworth steadied Donald’s swing so he could hold his gaze. “I am not a duck. I merely have the word ‘duck’ in my name. Odd, yes. But that is how matters carry on sometimes. I am a dog. And my name is Duckworth.”

The duckling in front of him gave no sign that he registered a single word that Duckworth had diligently enunciated. Instead, he blew a spit bubble. “Doggie!”

That was even worse. “Please do not call me ‘doggie.’ Its unbecoming of a man of my age and stature. One should refer to others by their surname. Its the polite thing to do, you see.” 

Perhaps Donald was too young for this exercise. But elocution was a necessity for a proper gentleman, and there was no such thing as starting too early. Besides, it was his duty to do so, not only as Scrooge’s secretary and housekeeper, but as Donald’s tutor. In for a penny, in for a pound. And Duckworth was nothing if not diligent. 

He cleared his throat and repeated his name, drawing out the syllables for his ward’s comprehension. 

Donald blinked, looking at him with the soft, unfocused gaze young children had. “Daddy?”

“Oh. My. Well, that’s not quite, er...” Duckworth readjusted his collar self-consciously. Donald kicked his webbed feet happily, and Duckworth couldn’t help but feel a tender sort of fondness for the little dickens. He grabbed one of Donald’s webbed toes and wiggled it playfully. “I guess you can call me that... if you wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We needed some Duckworth Dad love, you know?


	7. When You Feel Down and Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donald comes down with the flu. Luckily, Uncle Scrooge is there to look after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this specific chapter to my dear friend Jay.

It was early morning in the McDuck manor. Scrooge was awake, sitting upright in his bed, and taking a moment to enjoy the dawn of a new day. Outside his window, songbirds sang lilting morning tunes in conjunction with the steady thrum of insect wings, beating in time against the steady wind. Mornings pleased Scrooge. The delicate quality of its sunlight. They’re cooling morning dew. The feeling of a new day ahead of him, its boundless potential, and its unconquered challenges, they gave him hope. This morning in particular felt extraordinarily bright, like nothing could possibly spoil the productive day he planned.

            A high-pitch creak sounded from his door with its worn hinges and aroused Scrooge from his tranquil state. Standing in the door frame, slumped against the wood, was little Donald.

            “I don’t feel so good, Unca Scrooge.” He murmured dejectedly. From a distance, Donald looked slightly pallid, but not altogether unwell. Scrooge reached for his glasses to get a better look.

            “This sudden illness isn’t spurred on by that spelling test you have planned in class today, is it?” He adjusted his spectacles to fit more comfortably on his beak. His nephew wasn’t prone to malingering, but neither was he above shirking unpleasant affairs he’d rather avoid. And Scrooge could not abide by his ward playing hooky.

            “No. I really do feel crummy.” Donald answered.

            “Alright,” said Scrooge as he threw back his covers. “Stay here while I grab the thermometer.”

            One quick trip to the bathroom later, and Scrooge returned to find his nephew lying face-down on his bed.

            “I feel all achy and cold, Unca.” Donald looked at Scrooge pitifully. Scrooge placed a hand gently on the boy’s forehead: it felt warm to the touch. The thermometer only confirmed his suspicions with a reading of 102 ̊ F. Donnie was running a fever.

Clucking his tongue sympathetically, Scrooge stroked Donald’s feverish little head, “Seems to me you’ve caught a bug, darling.”

“Like a flea?”

“More like the flu.” Using his thumb, Scrooge ruffled the sweat-soaked feathers on Donald’s forehead. “I’ll call you in sick.” He placed a soft kiss where he’d ruffled Donald’s feathers. “Head back to bed and try to get some rest, ok?”

“Ok,” Donald weakly replied. He didn’t budge from where he lay however. He feebly kicked at the bed sheets in an attempt to crawl under them.

Scrooge pulled the blankets over him. “Too ill to walk back to your bed?”

Donald shook his head. “I threw up on my bed covers.”

Surprised, Scrooge paused while tucking Donald in. “I’ll have Duckworth strip your bed then.”

“Thanks, Unca.” Donald watched sleepily as Scrooge left the room to call him in.

 

Once he’d taken care of the top priorities, Scrooge stocked a tray with the appropriate supplies for a sick bairn in bed. With Duckworth busy stripping Donald’s bed, Scrooge was left to look after the invalid duckling. Not that he _minded_ playing caretaker although taking the day off from work did gnaw at him. Donald was more important than business, he reminded himself as a pang of anxiety over any number of potential business deals vexed him. Parenthood meant making sacrifices. And as much as he considered his enterprise his baby, it paled into insignificance against his actual baby.

            Balancing a loaded tray, Scrooge made his way slowly back to his room. He’d grabbed everything he cold think of: tissues for runny noses, Pedialyte to rehydrate, hot tea loaded with honey for sore throats, a cold compress, medicine measured to the milliliter, oatmeal sweetened with brown sugar, fresh pajamas, and most importantly: Donald’s stuffed animal, Lady Featherbottom McQuackington. With one hand, he carefully readjusted her powder blue bonnet before moving to open the door. To his surprise, Donald was still awake, looking bleary-eyed, watching for his arrival.

            The tray made a light _clink_ as he placed it on the nightstand. “Can’t sleep?”

            “Not tired,” Donald answered.

            Not true by the looks of it, for Donald’s heavy lids drooped as he struggled to keep them open. Scrooge uncapped the bottle of Pedialyte, instructing Donald to sit up before he started drinking. “Small sips,” he advised.

            The bed dipped slightly as Scrooge settled himself down next to Donald. “Funny. You look pretty tired to me.”

            When Donald was done drinking, he swapped the bottle for Lady Featherbottom. Donald hugged Lady to his body after being handed her. “Are you staying home from work today?”

            “Indeed I am.”

            “Then I don’t want to sleep.” Like a duck slipping out of a pond, Donald effortlessly shrugged off the tightly tucked sheets still around him.

            “Why’s that then, lad?”

            Donald tottered on his knees over to Scrooge’s side. A feverish little hand urged him to swing his arm over Donald’s shoulder.  “You never take days off. I wanna make the most of it by spending it with you.”

            Hugging him close, Scrooge was inclined to agree. Days off were few and far between with work to busy Scrooge and school to occupy Donald. And though he was certain he’d catch Donald’s bug if he spent all day by his side, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

            “Alright then. Let’s make a deal,” Scrooge remarked. He waited for Donald to aim his curious gaze up at him before he continued. “I’ll spend the whole day with you, doing whatever you please—”

            Prematurely excited, Donald jiggled up and down on his knees underneath the alcove of his wing.

            “But—” The jiggling stopped, and Scrooge carried on. “You need to take your medicine with no complaints, drink some more Pedialyte, change into fresh pajamas, and take a nap first.”

            With a hand placed thoughtfully on his chin, Donald quietly considered his proclamation. He scrunched his face in faux-contemplation, sticking his pointed tongue out of his beak. After going through his mental calculations, Donald shook Scrooge’s hand limply. “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. McDuck, but I s’pose I’m amenable to your suggestion.”

Chuckling, Scrooge returned his nephew’s handshake. “My, that’s a ten-dollar word if I’ve ever heard one, Mr. Duck.”

            With a proud, lop-sided grin, Donald diligently spelled it out for his uncle. “One of my vocabulary words for the week,” he explained. “Impressed? I’ve been studying.”

            “Sorry to have doubted you, nephew. You’re becoming quite the little scholar, aren’t you?”

Donald preened himself on Scrooge’s praise. “Well,” he huffed indulgently, “English _is_ my best subject.” He rubbed the end of his beak bashfully for a moment. “Enough of that though. Let’s not forget the business at hand, Unca. I have my demands.”

            Scrooge tutted, “Pajamas, medicine, and a nap first.”

            Frowning slightly, Donald acquiesced, “You gotta nap with me!”

            “I’m not the sick one here, laddie. But I can keep you company while you doze.” He scooped Donald into his lap and started unbuttoning his pajama top.

            “Ok, but… you gotta watch Hello Dolly with me afterwards.” Donald slipped his arms out of his sleeves as Scrooge tugged his pajama bottoms off by the legs.

            “Again?” Scrooge sighed. He tossed the soiled garments to the side, replacing them with a fresh pair: the nautical themed ones that Donald favored.

“Again!” Donald cried bossily. “You said whatever I want.”

            Pulling Donald’s head through the opening of the shirt, Scrooge nodded solemnly. “Aye, I did say that.” Finally outfitted once again, Scrooge clapped Donald on the back. “I suspect you know all the lyrics by heart given how many times we’ve watched that film.”

            “Its my favorite.” Donald replied. He took the cup of medicine from his uncle’s offering hands. Grimacing, he slugged it back in one go, gagging at the taste.   


            “Good boy.” He quickly handed Donald some Pedialyte to chase away the unpleasant taste. With those requirements now out of the way, Scrooge plucked his nephew up into his arms and began the process of tucking him in once more.

            “You’re my favorite, Unca Scrooge.” He yawned sleepily.

            Shuffling in bed next to him, Scrooge gave Donald a light squeeze. “You’re my favorite, too.”

Donald mumbled something Scrooge didn't quite catch as he dropped off to sleep. This wasn't the productive morning he had planned to embark when he first awoke, but, for once, he didn't really mind. He hummed a refrain from one of the musical's songs. The one about loving and being loved. He couldn't recall the words, but he knew he'd find out soon. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Dolly is a really good movie, and as I'm writing this, I'm realizing this is technically the second time I've referenced it in a fic. "Unfamiliar Skies" was originally titled "Whirl Away Your Worries" after a line from the song 'Dancing.' I ended up changing it once I'd finished it because I felt it didn't match the piece any longer.   
> This chapter's title comes from 'Put on Your Sunday Clothes.'   
> Hello Dolly is very much a comfort movie for me when I'm sick or sad. Same goes with Singin' in the Rain. Really any early to mid-19th century musical with cheery tunes, elaborate dance numbers, and good jokes. Definitely a love my mom instilled in me, that's for sure.


	8. Questions Asked, Answers Given

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donald has some pertinent questions that need to be answered. Scrooge would rather saw off his own webbed foot than do just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling a bit of the summer blues so I thought I'd just upload a quick, dumb chapter so I could feel productive

            The bed of their recently checked in hotel room bucked and heaved with Donald’s rambunctious jumping, disturbing the quite exhausted Scrooge lying prone upon it. When time had come for his annual trip abroad, Scrooge had decided to bring Donald along for the first time ever. He’d hoped it would be educational for the boy to observe his uncle hard at work, ensuring his various businesses here and elsewhere were running smoothly. Their first leg of their journey started at Scrooge’s copper mines in Arizona. From there, they’d taken a same-day flight to his salmon cannery in Chillifoot, Alaska. A few stops later and they were in Sweden to check on his fine glassware factory. All this traveling had sucked the gusto from his step while his nephew seemed to fare much better. Too well in fact. Donald was buzzing with energy their one-bed hotel room could barely contain.

            His little bundle of joy was seemingly unaffected by the jet lag that knocked Scrooge flat. With an edge of irritation, Scrooge curtly asked the lad to stop his infernal bouncing. Please. And thank you.

Donald landed with a thump into a seated position near the head of the bed. “Sorry Unca.” Then with nary a beat elapsed, Donald started to rock back and forth on his heels, shaking the bed anew. “I’m bored,” Donald stated.

“Only the boring get bored.” Scrooge murmured in exhausted response.

            Donald blew a raspberry at the blandly repeated cliché. He tugged lightly on his uncle’s sleeve. “Can I go explore?”

            “Absolutely not,” Scrooge answered. “I don’t want you wandering off alone in a foreign country where I’ll never find you again.”

            “But there’s nothing to do in here, Unca Scrooge.”

            Scrooge pried one sleepy lid open to eye Donald. “You’re an enterprising young lad. Find a way to entertain yourself.” He clamped his eye shut again in the hopes he’d manage some relaxation before bed. The bed rose as Donald’s weight left its surface and for a few moments Scrooge heard Donald putter around the room in search of an activity. With nothing to occupy himself, however, he slumped back on the bed in defeat. Vainly Scrooge hoped for a reprieve, he had no energy to entertain the nine-year-old even though he recognized the boy’s utter boredom.

            The bed springs creaked as Donald readjusted to lie on his stomach and face his tired-looking uncle. “Where do babies come from?”

            “W-what?” The sudden inquiry made him jolt upwards and open his eyes to look incredulously at his nephew. “Why are you asking me such a thing?”

            Toying with a loose string hanging from his sleeve, Donald calmly gave his reply. “I’m making conversation.” He plucked the errant thread and handed it to his uncle to dispose of. “You said I should find something to occupy myself with.”

Dumbly, Scrooge received the detritus his ward handed him. He hemmed and hawed as Donald started at him, rapt with attention. Scrooge knew this conversation would come sooner or later, but wasn’t it rather too soon? Donald was still in elementary for Bark’s sake! The gears in Scrooge’s head churned as he thought of a way to deflect the question. He wasn’t ready to lose his innocent bairn yet.

            “Well, um, babies… hatch from eggs, Donald!” Scrooge mentally pat himself on the back for his logical acrobatics he derived to answer the boy’s question truthfully without giving anything away.

            “Yeah. I know that. Silly Unca.” Donald rolled his eyes at his apparent naivety. “What I meant was: where do the eggs come from?”

            Scrooge swore the gulp he made was audible. In the back of his mind, a little voice chided him for his premature self-congratulations. What was that charming little phrase Elvira always said? _Don’t count your chickens before they hatch?_

            Hatch. Hatching eggs. Donald wanting to know all about the particulars of hatching eggs. “Well,” Scrooge said, his voice faltering, “Remember how we talked about the difference between ladies and men?”

            “About their private parts you mean?” Donald whispered conspiratorially.

            “Yes. Well, another one of those differences is that ladies can lay eggs.” With a prayer sent out to any god who listened, Scrooge beseeched desperately for the line of questioning to come to a halt.

            For a moment, Donald pondered this, picking at his sleeve for other errant threads to pull. His face lit up with bright curiosity, sending his uncle’s heart crashing to the floor. “How do the eggs get in there?”

            Violently, Scrooge slammed his head unto a pillow. “Boy! Isn’t it getting late? I think its time for bed.”

            “But it’s only 9:30!”

            Scrooge faked a yawn. “Oh boy, am I beat!” He hastily pulled the covers over him.

            The vibration of Donald’s laughter sent fear right to his gut. “Unca Scrooge, you’re still wearing your spats.”

            In an attempt even he saw as futile, Scrooge began to snore cartoonishly.

            Chuckling, Donald pushed his uncle’s ‘sleeping’ mass playfully. “I know you aren’t asleep!” In another attempt to rouse him, Donald plucked his uncle’s glasses deftly from his beak. Holding them at arms-length, he peered through the corrected lenses. Still, Scrooge refused to budge. He donned his uncle’s glasses and looked at the skewed world. Shaking his uncle vigorously, Donald started to chant, “Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

            Frustrated, Donald put his hands on his hips. He authoritatively demanded, “Unc _le_ Scrooge, you are being un-rea-son-a-ble.”

            Scrooge knew he was in hot water now. Whenever Donald took the time to clearly enunciate like that, it was because he meant business. Sweat started to bead around his neck under the heat of the heavy blankets. Silently, he calculated a way out of this. The only way through was distraction. Donald could be frighteningly persevering when he set his mind to something but dangling an attractive enough alternative could derail his train of thought.

            Scrooge sat up suddenly. “Say, why don’t we go for a swim in the hotel’s pool?”

            “But I didn’t bring my shorts!”

            “You can just wear your underwear! No one will notice.” Scrooge grabbed his glasses from Donald’s beak.

            “I don’t wanna.” Donald frowned. “I wanna know why you won’t tell me where babies come from.”

            The bait dropped from the hook and onto the floor sadly. He’d have to try a little harder than that to dissuade Donald from chasing this any further. An idea, out of the blue, popped into his head.

            “Donnie, I can’t tell you,” Scrooge sighed dramatically, “because I do not know.”

            “You don’t?”

            “Nope. Not a clue.”

            Donald looked confused. “I thought you knew everything.”

            “Not this.”

            Donald considered this before nodding decisively. “Ok.”

            Scrooge lay back down with relief. He watched Donald reach for the bedside phone.

            “Lad? What are you doing?”

            Donald cradled the phone next to his ear. “I’m gonna call Duckworth! Maybe he can explain it to you.”

            “Not if I have to pay collect, you’re not.” Scrooge snatched the phone from Donald’s grasp.

            “Aw.” Donald groused. He kicked his feet playfully. “Ok, I’ll explain it to you, Unca Scrooge.”

            “Oh yeah?” Scrooge folded his hands over his stomach and started to relax again. This ought to be good. “Go on, then.”

            Donald cleared his throat. “Last year at the farm, I saw a mummy bull and a daddy bull having sex. The dad got on top of the mum and started jerking all weird like. They started making all these funny noises together until the dad had put a seed in the mum. It combines with an egg inside her and a baby starts to grow. Then nine months later she pushes it out of her private parts.”

Scrooge flung his eyes open. “How did you know all that?”

            “Gran’ma told us.” Donald shrugged.

            Scrooge stared silently up at the ceiling.

            “I thought all adults knew this.” Donald started to tuck his uncle into bed. “Good night, Unca. Mwah!” He kissed Scrooge’s troubled head before sliding off the bed to play silently by himself. He heard Donald tut to himself about his silly Unca.

            Suddenly, Scrooge wasn’t feeling very tired anymore.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, Uncle Scrooge, it's like sex ed 101. Can't believe you're this old and don't know this stuff. Talk about embarrassing.   
> Scrooge, this is why you should have bought Donald that gameboy sp he asked for on christmas. He wouldn't be asking you these things if he was playing Pokemon Ruby.


End file.
